Don't Let Me Down - A Bamon Fanfic
by AlexaIsAMessa
Summary: Based off episode 7x19: As she lays dying, he's only got one thing on his mind: keeping her alive. With Bonnie dying, Damon is willing do whatever it takes to save his best friend. Even if that means having to sacrifice his own life. Can he help her in time? Will his plan work? Can they save their friendship?...Only time will tell.(Slight BE at the start, but will be BD)
1. Chapter 1

"It's open!" Bonnie said as the knocking on her bedroom stopped. She was staring out at the window, the night sky shining with stars and the moon full, giving the dark world a bright night light.

 **Stranded, reaching out**

 **I call your name but you're not around**

 **I say your name but you're not around**

She doesn't turn just yet, attention captivated by the stars that hung high in the sky. They were beautiful, she thought, absolutely stunning. It's only when she hears the slow, hesitant shuffling of feet on the floor does she throw a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes narrow at what she finds behind her.

Spinning around on the heels of her feet does she ask in accusing tone, "What do you want now, Damon?"

Standing there, only a mere eight feet away, was Damon. He was dressed in his usual dark jeans, ankle high boots, black leather jacket, and a gray Henley. His hair was beginning to grow out a little more, Bonnie noticed although she didn't care, and was hanging just above his startling blue eyes—and those eyes are what caught her attention the most.

They stood out, but not in a bad way. Damon's eyes demanded attention, much like himself. They usually held mischief, but right now, all that was shown was remorse. Guilt. Everything he wanted to say but couldn't. And Bonnie hated that she could _read this man like he was a goddamn book_ ; a book that's been sitting on her bookcase for years, read through with the corners folded, pages torn slightly at the seam, and waiting patiently for her to pick up for one last look-through.

A minute had passed since Bonnie has asked her question, and although she was usually a patient person, she didn't feel like wasting her time if all Damon was going to do was stand there and stare at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish. And right as she's about to tell him to leave, he opens his mouth.

"I-I wanted to talk," he stutters, eyebrows scrunch together in worry. Bonnie wasn't sure what he had so much to worry about, but even the look on Damon's face was making her concerned.

"You want to talk?" She asks, raising a curious brow at him and he nods, looking like a child who was waiting for a scolding. But luckily for him, Bonnie wasn't in the mood. "Fine. Then talk."

And then, just like that, Damon's mouth snaps shut. His shoulders slouch and his head droops, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He loses all his courage, the words getting trapped in his throat, making it hard to breathe. It didn't help that while what he wanted to say floated around in his mind instead of coming out to be heard, guilt weighed down on him. He'd spent the last twenty minutes—more like the entirety of the two weeks since he's been back in Bonnie's life (or rather, standing outside of it with his face pressed up against the glass, peering in)—building his confidence. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, this would be the time he finally gets it right.

But as he stood there, staring at her, he wasn't so sure of himself. Of the plan. On what he was going to say. Or pretty much anything. Because as he stared at Bonnie all he thought of was how much of a screw-up he is. Of that night three years ago when he locked himself up in that coffin, deciding to desiccate, and the only thing that ran through his head was the image of her crying, telling him he hurt her. That his decision—the one he thought would protect her, keep her safe—had done more harm than good.

Because all he, Damon Salvatore, was good at, was destroying the people he cared about the most. He was nothing but destruction. And he threw a wrecking ball straight through his salvation.

"Well, are you going to stand there all day or are you actually going to say something?"

Bonnie's comment has his head shooting up, blue eyes locking with her brown ones, her voice making him come back to reality. Damon takes a few more seconds to just... _stare_ —to analyze her face, the way her shoulder length hair shown in the moonlight coming through the window behind her, and her beautiful brown eyes that deceived the angriness that had set in her facial features.

"I...um...yeah," he mumbles out stupidly, mentally facepalming himself in the face. "I-I just wanted to say that I am sorry for what I did. And that I never meant to...hurt you."

Bonnie bites the instead of her cheek, taking a second to think of what she was going to say before responding. "But you did—you hurt me, Damon. I-I cared about you more than anyone else ever did. We literally went through hell together, and you threw it all away for _her!_ You ruined us! _**You. Ruined. Me!**_ "

 **I think I'm losing my mind now**  
 **It's in my head, darling I hope**  
 **That you'll be here, when I need you the most**  
 **So don't let me, don't let me, don't let me down**

She hadn't meant for her voice to get louder. To explode on him like that. She didn't want to seem weak—she didn't want Damon to see how vulnerable she really was. He didn't get to see her cry. Not anymore.

"I know!" Damon cries back, arms thrown out and a desperate look on his face. "...I know I hurt you, Bonnie, and I wish I could go back in time and take back what I did to _you_ —what I did to Stefan, _to everyone_ —but I can't. I can't do that. I know you...cared about me. But I did it all to protect you, to keep you safe. I locked myself away in that coffin—"

"—To protect me?" She cuts him off, finishing his sentence for him. "Yeah, I got that part. But you also did so you wouldn't have to see me die! But guess what Damon, _I'm dying right now_ and you're going to see it! You might as well kill me right now! So, don't give me that _'I was trying to protect you Bonnie'_ crap because we all know you did it for Elena!"

 **R-r-running out of time**  
 **I really thought you were on my side**  
 **But now there's nobody by my side**

At this Damon shakes his head, frustrated. "No, Bonnie. That is where you are wrong. I didn't do if for Elena. I did for _you!_ And if you only let me finish, I was going to say: I locked myself in that coffin so you wouldn't have to keep fixing my mistake; so that you wouldn't have to put your life on the line to fix those mistakes! I didn't want you to have to keep saving me."

"Y-You're lying," Bonnie stutters, eyes stinging with tears that suddenly cloud over her vision. _He's lying._ He _has_ to be. She didn't believe him. When Damon takes a few brave steps forward, she steps backward, she pushing his out-stretched hand away, screaming, "NO! You don't get to do that. Not anymore." She lets out a shaky sigh, lips quivering and hands shaking by her sides. Bonnie didn't understand. Her brain couldn't wrap around why he'd care about her after what he had done to her. "Don't come near me." She tells him and Damon steps back.

 _He doesn't care about her._

"You don't care about me."

Damon lets out a humorless chuckle, questioning, "Now, if I didn't care about you, Bon-Bon, why would I'd be trying to save your life?"

 _Bon-Bon._ Bonnie had heard that nickname in years. The tears that had been drying spill over and slip down her cheeks. She hated this. She hated how he made her feel. But she couldn't find it in herself to hate Damon. Because she couldn't. Because a little voice in her head told her that he telling the truth. But Bonnie just couldn't believe him. Because what if she believes him and forgives him and he runs off and disappears and she never sees him again? What if she forgives him and she just falls back in pieces?

Oh, fuck this! Fuck Damon Salvatore! Fuck the pills that are killing her! _AND FUCK EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN!_

"You don't care about me," she says again, adding, "You're trying to save me because you feel guilty about leaving me. The only reason you're doing anything to help me is so you can redeem yourself."

"You're right, Bon-Bon," Damon nods, a sad smile spreading across his face, "I feel so fucking guilty about leaving you that the only way to make myself feel better is to save your life. And yeah, I owe you a few to many for saving my ass. The way I could ever get you to forgive me is to save your life like Prince Charming. But we both know I'm no prince. But, unlike you Bonnie, you are and will always be my best friend. Even if I'm not yours. Because, yes, I screwed up. I apologized for that. I'm owning up to my mistakes. I'm doing everything I can to get my best friend back because I miss her! I miss you, Bonnie. And do you know what best friends do? They argue; they fight; they make mistakes. And me leaving you will always be my biggest regret. But if you think for one second that I don't care about you, then that's your mistake. Because I do. Because, even though my decision to desiccate hurt you, it was keeping you safe from me. I was protecting you and it backfired. But me wanting to save you has nothing do with wanting my best friend back. You don't deserve to die Bonnie. Not when you have a whole life ahead of you. So, you can love me or resent me, but you're stuck with me."

Bonnie's breath hitches, but she's at a loss for words.

 _'You can love me or resent me, but you're stuck with me', 'You're my best friend and if anything ever happened to you, I'd lose my mind.'_

 **I need you, I need you, I need you right now**  
 **Yeah, I need you right now**  
 **So don't let me, don't let me, don't let me down**

She wipes the tears away, but they just keeping coming, just as Damon says, "I won't let you die, Bonnie. Not like this. Not at all. I promise you that—I owe you that much. I will never let you down ever again. And that's a promise—and we both know, when I make a promise, I always keep it."


	2. Chapter 2

**ONE WEEK LATER**

"How do you know it's even going to work?"

Damon turned around at the sound of Enzo's voice resonating in his ears. The other man was holding a white washcloth in his left hand, the cotton material drenched in sweat. He could smell it from all the way out in the hallway, the scent of death wafting throughout the small cabin in the woods. Behind the shut bedroom door, that Damon was standing eight feet away from, lay a dying Bonnie Bennett. She had, approximately (if his calculations were correct), only mere hours before her organs shut down due to lack of oxygen. Bonnie had begun spitting up blood a day ago, coughing and hacking, and eventually, after a few hours, her breathing had gotten wheezy.

Looking his old friend in the eye, Damon asked back, "Do you _want_ her to die?"

Enzo shook his head at this. "No. Of course not."

"Then it's going to work," Damon said, trying to keep hs voice calm and level. Every part of him wanted to go out in the woods and tear trees up from where they stood; he wanted to make someone pay for what was happening to Bonnie. But the only person to blame was the man standing in front of him, the man Bonnie loved. And if it weren't for her deep feelings for Enzo stopping him, Damon would've torn his heart out of his chest already.

"You don't know that Damon," Enzo stated, and it was true—Damon had absolutely no clue if his plan was going to work. But it had too. For Bonnie.

"We don't have any other choice, so it either works or it doesn't. But at least we tried," he insisted, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He was angry. But not at Enzo. But at himself, because he could've been here, helping Bonnie; making sure she stayed alive and out of The Armory's grubby hands. But no. Instead, he desiccated himself. And she's still dying. The only thing that made him feel slightly better is when he realized that she wasn't dying because of him. That the person who gets to live with that kind of guilt is the man standing in front of him. Damon knew this was a selfish thought—but that's who Damon Salvatore is: a selfish, greedy man who destroys everything in his wake.

As Enzo goes to goes to open his mouth, he's cut off by the sounds of the choked cries of his girlfriend calling his name. Shutting his mouth, jaw clenched, Enzo sends him one last pleading look to figure, silently asking for him to figure something out before speeding away and flashing back to his lover's bedside. Without meaning to, Damon's ears pick up on the faint beating of Bonnie's heart, the organ doing it's best to keep her breathing. But, just like their hopes, it was failing. His eyes shut, the sound of her beating heart trapped in his skull, the image of Bonnie covered in sores and scabs entered his mind and no matter how hard he shook his head, the image had already engraved itself into his brain. Bonnie Bennett was dying and there's nothing he could do to stop it—except, try and take some of the pain away.

The sound of gravel crunching under spinning tires snaps Damon back to reality, his eyes shooting open as someone knocks on the front door. Flashing over to it, weaving his way past the couch, he comes face-to-face with his side of the door. Not bothering to check who it is first, he unlocks it and fumbles with the handle, twisting it before the door swings open to a reveal a very familiar face.

"Valarie," Damon greets the redheaded heretic with a tight smile, gesturing for her to enter.

"Damon," she says back with the same amount of hostility in her voice. Not bothering with a smile, she walks inside of the cabin, scanning her surroundings with her eyes, clutching onto her book bag.

"Did you bring it?" He asks, curious, an eyebrow raised and a finger pointing down at her bag.

Valarie sends him a pointed look. "Of course, I brought it, why I wouldn't I? Unlike some people, I actually _keep_ my promises."

Damon's jaw ticks, remembering the last time they were in the same room—well, car—together. "I see you're still upset and I apologize for my actions. But Stefan's fine now. And you two can be happy—"

"—We broke up," Valarie interrupts him, grumbling something that sounded a whole lot like gibberish, before walking past him and taking a seat on the floor near the couch. The coffee table had been moved out of the way for earlier preparations for Valarie's arrival. On the coffee table laid some items that she had asked for, sending him on a wild goose chase, searching at every witchy black market for the things she had wanted. Turns out, Damon had been right, she didn't need any of the things he had found for the spell. Instead, just two vials, one filled with Bonnie's blood, and the other with his. Getting his was just a simple matter of biting in his wrist and watching as the blood dripped into the glass container. But, with Bonnie, it had proved more difficult. Enzo, even though he had been against the idea at first, had used the blood in the large bowl that sits on the nightstand and is used for when Bonnie is choking on the red crimson liquid. It had been, for better lack of the term, disgusting.

The fire that burned in the fireplace crackled as Valarie opened her spellbook, carefully turning the pages in the old, faded white book until she came across the page that was marked with a long brown leather string for a bookmark. Taking a seat on the couch, Damon watches her, intrigued as Valarie dug through her bag and brought out five candles, a lighter, and a stick of chalk. He had seen this process many times over the course of the many years that he's been alive—or undead as he should say—but it still left him amazed every time.

With the chalk, she drew a pentagram on the floorboards beneath his feet. The pentagram was shaped like a star and surrounded by a massive circle. At each point, Valarie marked it with a candle and had him light them with the lighter while she was busy grabbing the bowl off the coffee table and taking the water bottle that had been stored in her bag and pouring the clear liquid into the bowl before setting it down near one of the candles. Next, she takes out a black silk bag and pours whatever's in it onto her hand. Spreading her palm out wide, a bunch of stones comes tumbling out of the bag and landing in her hand.

She rolls the stones around in her hand, eyes shutting momentarily, and the only logical explanation that Damon could think of was that she was feeling for their energy.

Now, Damon wasn't stupid. Although he couldn't name the stones, he knew what they could do. Witches and stones—particularily, old stones like crystals or Lapis Lazuli (the blue rock that sat on his finger and was enchanted by Emily Bennett back in 1864 ensured him that he would be able to walk in the sun)—had a long history together. He didn't really believe much about how a certain stone could hold such power (besides the Moonstone and his daylight ring), but as he continued to watch Valarie with a cautious eye the stones in her hand come to life. They brighten, flowing with energy that had Damon leaning closer, the stones drawing him in. He could feel the power they emitted, it tickled his skin and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"What...What the hell was that?" He asked Valarie, staring down at the stones in her hand, dumbfounded.

She looks up at him, a smug smirk on her lips, a proud glint in her eye. "I activated them."

Damon wasn't sure how to respond. So he didn't. Instead, he smiled and said, "Okay then," and let Valarie continue with getting everything ready. She didn't seem to mind the vampire's silence, hardly noticing he was even there at all, she got to work. With most of the easy stuff done, she turns to her spellbook and picks it up and sets it down in front of her. She had sticky notes stuck to the page, little reminders, and as she read them she realized she would only need one last thing to get the spell up and running.

"Damon?" She calls, glancing up at the blue-eyed blood-sucking creature. She had to call his name one more time, Damon caught up in his head, his eyes having that far-away look to them before he snaps out of his daze and his attention snapping over to her.

"Hmm?" He mumbles, raising a curious brow her way. "Do you need something, Valarie?"

The witch nods, "I need one last thing before I can start the spell—well, it's actually more like _two_ things. Do you have anything of significance with you? Something that's important and you couldn't live without?"

Damon had to think. It took him a minute before he could answer.

"My daylight ring," he says, right hand going over to his left, twisting the ring around his finger before pulling it off and holding it up. He stares at it for a moment, left hand bare, and suddenly, he felt naked. He was so used to the feeling of the ring being there, that now that it wasn't, he couldn't stop himself from clenching his hand into a fist. His finger itched.

He looks over at Valarie. "...Will this work?"

She nods, "A daylight ring. Something you couldn't live without. I can see why it's important to you. But now..."

"Now you need what?" Damon asks her, not meaning to come off as rude, just simply asking a question, but from the way she scrunched her eyebrows together and glared at him, he knew he had offended her. "Okay. Fine. I...I'm sorry, alright? Now, what do you want?"

Valarie rolls her eyes, but says, "I need something of Bonnie's—but considering she's been on the run for the past three years, I wouldn't expect her to be keeping any personal items laying around."

"What do you need from Bonnie?" Both Damon and Valarie's heads snap to the side suddenly, eyes landing on Enzo. Too caught up in the mystical workings of the spell, they hadn't even noticed Enzo had waltzed into the room a minute prior. He had witnessed the stones his old heretic friend had been holding, the rocks glowing in a bright light before slowly dimming, the energy they gave off drawing him closer into the family room. The English vampire had hidden behind the wall separating the two rooms, and while staying out of view he had eavesdropped on their conversation.

Damon's the first one to react to Enzo's presence. But instead of talking to him, he turns to Valarie and mutters, "Ms. Cuddles."

"What's the hell is a 'Ms. Cuddles'?" Enzo and Valarie had spoken in unison, equally as confused.

This time, however, Damon doesn't speak to the redhead. His gaze jumps from her to Enzo, his lips quirked up slightly at the edges. A little too cockily, Damon asks him, "You mean, you've been with Bonnie for how many years—two, three?—and you have absolutely no idea who Ms. Cuddles is?" When Enzo shrugs, Damon has to hold back the urge to let out a chuckle. "Now that's just pathetic."

At his words, Enzo glares daggers at him but doesn't say anything. Because no matter how much he wanted to snap Damon's neck, he knew he was right. It was pathetic. Three years and he had no idea what this 'Ms. Cuddles' was. But Damon did, and that was enough to get his blood boiling in rage.

"What _exactly_ is Ms. Cuddles?" Enzo asks, laying on his charm and pretending that everything was fine. But it wasn't. Because deep, deep down inside he wanted nothing more than to tear Damon's throat out. But he knew if he did that, he'd lose Bonnie—because whether she admitted it or not, Enzo could tell that under all the bitterness and hatred, she still had a soft spot for the blue-eyed vampire that she use to call 'best friend'—and he couldn't risk that. Even though, he was currently losing her death.

"A stuffed bear," Damon answered him as he leaned back into the couch, crossing his legs. Enzo stared at his old friend and wondered how he could say something that casually, like he was talking about the weather but was actually referring to a stuffed bear that was, potentially, supposed to save his girlfriend's life. The idea alone sounded impossible and, quite frankly, stupid. But when he remembered that a bunch of magical pills—magical pills he had given her—we're killing the person he loved most, he held off an voicing his opinions on the matter.

Instead, he blinked a few times, trying to wrap his head around the idea, and turned his attention onto Valarie. "...And how is this bear—"

"—Ms. Cuddles," Damon interrupts, correcting Enzo.

He sighs but goes along with it anyway. "Yes, my apologies. But how is this bear— _Ms. Cuddles_ —going to save my girlfriend's life? How is this going to work?"

"Well," Valarie starts, putting her hands in her lap and looking up from the spellbook and to the two men in front of her. "The bear wouldn't exactly be saving Bonnie's life, per-say. Ms. Cuddles would just be keeping Bonnie's spirit at bay, tying it to something instead of _floating_. As the Other Side is no more thanks to his—" she pauses and gestures with her hand at Damon "—friends, Bonnie's spirit would just be floating aimlessly around in an abyss. Forever trapped. But because of the pills blocking her magic—which is, essentially, blocking the witch part of her—we may be able to stop her spirit from getting trapped in the abyss. And, technically speaking, she's human without her magic, and the pills are feeding off of it, draining it from her system—"

Damon's eyes widening, realizing what Valarie was trying to say.

"—Draining her of her life force."

Valarie nods, dropping her head, sad. "Exactly. And since she's been taking them for the past three years, every day, they've mad her sick. Eating her alive from the inside out. Like cancer. One or two pills are fine, but three years? She's lucky to have lived this long."

With each word that came out of her mouth, Damon's anger grew. The more his heart hurt, pained with the realization that the man that his best friend loved had been killing her. And it didn't matter that he didn't know. It was his fault. It was _all_ Enzo's fault. Without thinking, Damon flashes from the couch to Enzo, grabbing the vampire by the collar of his sweater and pinning to the closest wall.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" He roared in his face, snarling like a dog, teeth grinding together. "You are the reason she's dying! You were supposed to protect her, but instead, you killed her! And I thought _I_ was the one that needed to be locked away in a coffin to keep her away from me. Turns out I'm not the one she needed protecting from! All this time it was you!"

Damon sends Enzo crashing to the floor, eyes stinging with tears and vision blurred as he pulled his arm back, clenched his fingers into a fist, and brought it back down. His knuckles made contact with his jaw, the first punch being the worse. And Damon kept hitting him, didn't stop even when he heard the quiet, but audible sound of Enzo's jaw breaking, or his nose, or his cheek. He didn't care that the man before him was bleeding, face just one giant black and blue bruise, blood dripping from the sides of his mouth, from his nose, and even the cuts that Damon had created with his nails. Because the only person Damon cared about the most—besides his brother—, the only person he could ever really call 'family' or proudly stand up in a room crowded with people and say _'Hey, world! This is my best friend and you can suck it if you don't like it!"_ was on the verge of death, holding on with slippery hands.

It was the blood on his hands that brought him back to reality. Nor was it the grunts and groans Enzo made. No. It was the man that Damon saw that made him take a step and ask himself: What have I done? Because, a little voice in the back of his head told him, reminding him, that Enzo used to be his friend. His only friend. And because of him, he had turn off his humanity to stop from giving a damn. It was the three words that fell from Enzo's lips, jaw beginning to heal, that made Damon fall to his knees and stare up at the roof and let the tears he had been holding slip down his cheeks for the first time, in a long time.

"I-I'm sorry, mate," Enzo stutter, choking and spitting blood onto the floor. "I only wanted to keep her safe."

Damon's eyes flickered and locked with a pair of chocolate brown ones, and finally understood.

"...So was I."


	3. Chapter 3

_"I only wanted to keep her safe."_

 _"...So was I."_

Bonnie may have been dying and her organs may have been shutting down, but that didn't make her deaf. And it wasn't like they were trying to be quiet. The words exchanged between Damon and Enzo brought salty tears to her eyes. Her stomach tightened as she tried to keep quiet, breathing through her nose, because she knew if she opened her mouth the only thing that would come out of it would a scream. Being that she was human—too some extent—she didn't have supernatural abilities like her boyfriend, who had super strength, super speed, and super hearing. That last one would've come in handy right about now, along with Enzo's ability to heal at abnormally fast rates.

She hated being left in the dark. She was usually the one fixing things, keeping everyone safe, and now she's the one who needs protecting. She's the one who needs saving. And she hates it—she hates that this is who she is now, or at least, for the time being before the pills finally take over and their effects reach her heart and she dies. As tears roll down her cheeks, she feels the tickling in her throat and something surging up it. Without any hesitation, she's rolling herself onto her side with some difficulty, and reaching out for the deep, yellow plastic bowl that sits on the floor. Her fingertips graze over it, and as her mouth begins to fill, she stretches out just a little bit further and she's holding onto the side of the bowl. Yanking it up onto the bed, placing it at her side, no longer being able to contain the liquid that was filling up her mouth, she parts her lips and it all comes spilling out. As expected, some get on her shirt, but most of it lands in the bowl.

"Ugh," she groans, gaze landing on the bowl, and instantly, she gags, almost throwing back up again.

Inside of the bowl isn't the usual red crimson liquid she had become accustomed to seeing over the course of the week that she's been trapped in this bed for. But, instead, a black, greyish substance that has her shuttering. _Had that really come out of her?_ She thought, snatching a tissue out of the kleenex box that sat on the nightstand by the bed and wiping her mouth. When she holds it up to inspect it, she finds that on the tissue, there's only some red mixing in with the grey, but most of it was black. Her nose wrinkles up in disgust. Setting the bowl back down on the floor—which proved to be slightly harder now that it was filled with the black goo—she leans back down, settling into the mattress and pulling the covers up to her chin. Nestling her head into the pillow, she closes her eyes. Maybe sleep would come easier this time.

...But of course, it didn't. After five minutes, Bonnie became restless, rolling back in forth. When a few more minutes pass, she gives up on sleep entirely and instead calls for the one person that might be able to help her.

With a choked shout, throat burning, she yells, "Enzo!"

And she waits patiently for her boyfriend to come flying through the door and zooming over to her bedside like had done many times this past week. Enzo usually comes within seconds of hearing his name being called, ready to ask how she was doing, eyebrows scrunch together in concern as he stared down at her with a loving—but sad—gaze. But as she lays in bed waiting, and he hasn't arrived yet, her curiosity begins to get the better of her. _Where was he?_ This was unlike Enzo; since she's gotten to know him over the course of these past three years, and then having to begin dating him, she's discovered a few things about him. And one of those were that Enzo was never late to come when called.

Bonnie almost gets up out of bed but decides against it when she shifts and a sudden wave of nausea runs over her, hitting her like a tidal wave and groans. Shutting her eyes and pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth to keep whatever contents were in her stomach down. Rolling her head to the side, eyes cracked slightly, she just barely catches a glimpse of a blurry image entering the room before it rushes over to her. Now, if she didn't have a boyfriend who was a vampire (and an ex-best friend who is also a creature of the night) outside of her bedroom to kick the ass of whoever dared to enter the cabin uninvited, she would've been more afraid. But with that being said, with Enzo a being of the supernatural, she was very familiar with the gust of wind his ability to super speed caused, so she knew that when she felt the bed dip that it could only be him.

...Or so she had thought.

"W-What are you doing here?" She croaked, her throat dry and still burning from when she had thrown up the black goo. Her eyes had widened slightly, just enough that she got a clear image of a pair of sparkling glacier blue eyes, raven black hair, and pale porcelain skin.

"Checking up on you."

It was Damon's only answer, head cocked to the side, eyebrows—much like Enzo's—were scrunch together in concern, eyes narrowing as he stared down at her. Bonnie didn't understand why the vampire seemed so upset, and maybe that stemmed from the fact he left her for his girlfriend lying in a coffin, stuck in an eternal sleep until Bonnie dies—and by the looks of it, Damon's one wish in life (that wish, being to have his 'true love' back in his arms) would be coming true. Especially when she knew that she only had mere hours to live, and probably wouldn't be alive to see the sunrise.

She silently wonders where Enzo is, but guessing from the blood on Damon's hands, he was cleaning himself up. Bonnie could only guess that he had heard her calling and that was the reason behind why he was here. The sight of the blood on his hands didn't startle her by the slightest, used to seeing his hands like that, even if it was her lover's. Even though she didn't have the energy to fight or the want to argue, she stills says with no humour in her voice, "Looks like Elena's going be coming home sooner rather than later. You must be happy."

It wasn't a question, rather a statement that she spoke—a statement that Damon wasn't very fond of.

"Looks like it," he replies, blue eyes flickering down to Bonnie's shirt, where splotches of black stain the fabric near the collar of her dark purple long sleeve shirt. It wasn't the first time he noticed it—the black goo. The stench it had created, although he hadn't known what it was yet, had wafted out into the hallway. He had heard Bonnie wrenching it up, his ears picking up the sound of her faint heartbeat—the same heartbeat that had been going just the slightest bit faster at that moment in time—and then her puking. It had been right around the time him and Enzo had been staring blankly at each other, not knowing what to say as he watched the other man's face begin to heal. The smell had hit him like a freight train, causing him to gag.

The smell had hit him like a freight train, causing him to gag. Damon didn't believe there was anything worse smelling than the awful cheese he'd been served that one time, a few centuries ago, when he had visited Italy. But now, he was sure, he had smelled it all. The scent was one that reeked of decay, something similar to a rotting corpse. Except, much, much worse. And has he peered over the side of the bed, near the window that was built into the side of the cabin, and saw a yellow plastic bowl filled with a type of black goo.

Damon had felt like running into Bonnie's bedroom to ask if she was alright, but considering just a few days ago she was telling him to basically screw himself, he wasn't exactly running at the chance to piss her off again. Especially when she was in this state. It's only when Enzo had gone to the bathroom to go clean the blood off his face and change his shirt that was stained in red crimson, leaving him alone in the family room with Valarie, had Damon heard Bonnie calling her beloved boyfriend's name.

Before zooming to her bedside, he had to make sure Valarie had all she needed for the spell. When the red head heretic had said yes after a few short moments of awkward silence, then had he gone to check up on the dying witch in the next room.

And that's what got him here, sitting on the edge of Bonnie's bed, and staring down her. She didn't seem to like that. Not one bit. She also didn't seem to like his reply to her statement. It was obvious she was expecting something different—maybe a snarky comment, a sarcastic quip. But definitely not him agreeing with her.

"Y-You're _agreeing_ with me?" She stuttered out, confused, asking the question after a minute of silence as she tried to figure out how to answer. It was clear she still didn't know what to say, as her forehead crinkled and her eyebrows wrinkled. "...Why?"

"I'm not _agreeing_ with you," he tells her after a second, tilting his body away from her, knitting his hands together, correcting her by saying, "I'm _humouring_ you."

This, of course, just causes her more confusion, to which just makes Damon sigh. Now having to explain—which he found odd, because usually Bonnie gets what he's trying to say, but from all the time apart, she may have forgotten (or could just have something to do with the poisonous pills that are currently killing her and rotting her guts out, he decided to give her a slide)—he opens his mouth.

"You see, Bon-Bon," he begins, hesitantly grabbing a hold of her hand, "Enzo might be fine with letting you die, and holding your hand in your last hours, and giving you what you want; respecting your wishes. And he _has_ that kind of respect—to step back and do nothing, even though he actually wants to everything to help you. But won't. Because that's the respectful thing to do, to give somebody you love the things they want and wish for. Enzo is a gentleman, a pleaser, and a giver. But me?...Well, we both know I'm none of those things. I'll take what I want and the consequences don't matter—but I'm learning that they do. Any you taught me that; that we always have a choice in life. And I'm choosing not to let you die; I'm choosing to continue fighting even if it may seem hopeless. I don't care if you hate me forever, Bonnie. Because, in the end, if what I do gets you to live, then I'll be okay that—with you hating me."

Damon pauses, taking a quick breather before continuing. "It may not seem like I care about you—which I do very deeply—but when I try to do the right thing, things seem to do the exact opposite to screw me over for the hell of it. Call it bad luck or destiny, or what-the-fuck-ever. But I'm going to do what I know best: and that's getting what I want. And I want you to live, Bonnie Bennett. I want you to see the world. I want you to live a happy life—with no magic, no vampires, not supernatural anything. Because, the only thing that should be able to kill you isn't a werewolf attack or some vamp sucking you dry, or some stupid pills. It should, however, be the normal things—childbirth, a car wreck, a gunshot wound to the chest. And I would do anything to be able to eat something and actually taste it and not want to throw it up afterwards because it's not a blood bag. I would take being able to walk in the sun and feeling it on my face without needing my daylight ring. I'd just want one day, and I could die the next, to just feel normal. Don't you want that, Bonnie? Normalcy?"

But before he can let her answer, he keeps talking. "You may think that I don't know you at all, but that would be a lie. You tell everyone that you're fine with dying, that that's how things go in life—you live and you die. And I get it, to some extent, how dying so many times can get boring after awhile and all you want is to have that final death. The one that's permanent. You want normal. But we both know that's not going to happen. You are a Bennett Witch, one of the strongest, bravest, and selfless people I've had the pleasure in getting to know. I realize I made a mistake by letting you go. But that's all I wanted for you—was for you to be safe and normal. But now, I understand, that's not going to happen. You are always going to be surrounded by the supernatural—hell, Bonnie, you're even dating a vampire. But here's the thing about that, about my mistake of letting you go and deciding to desiccate. I did it so you could live. Not die. At least not like this. I'm humouring you, Bonnie, because I'm not going to hop onto your little pity-party-train. I'm not going to let you die. So you lay here, with Enzo holding your hand while he secretly wishes he could grow some actual balls and say 'fuck no' to this idiotic plan of yours. He may let you go into that good night, but here's the thing about that 'good night' Bonnie: It's not it's cracked up to be. And I'm going to make damn sure it's not a gentle trip either."

Damon doesn't wait for an answer. Just pats her hand before pulling his away and standing up and walking over to the open bedroom door, where he could hear Enzo pacing up and down the hall, waiting to talk to his sick girlfriend. As his hand goes to the doorframe, fingers curling and gripping it tightly, he glances back over his shoulder at Bonnie and finds her staring back at him. She raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, which leaves him to say everything and anything.

"You will continue to rage, Bonnie Bennett. And rage you will be."

It's the last thing he says before turns his head away and walks out of the bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Walking back into the living room, Damon stands behind the couch, hands placed in front of him and gripping the brown fabric of the piece of furniture.

He had walked out just in time to see Valarie start the spell. The red-headed heretic's eyes were shut, legs crossed campfire style and her hands resting on her knees turned up. Sitting on her palms are the stones, each about the size of a dime. And standing off to the side, lurking in the shadows where he could barely be seen was Enzo. Damon gave him a quick once-over, noticing that the British vampire's face had healed up nicely—much to Damon's disliking—and had changed into a clean shirt.

Enzo wore a frown on his face, arms clasped together behind his back and gazed fixed on Valarie as she started reciting lines from the old spellbook that she had the two men run around halfway cross-country to find. Damon adverts his gaze elsewhere right when Enzo's brown eyes, the ones that shone from the flames dancing in the fireplace, flickered over to him, sensing him staring a hole in the side of his skull.

Damon stays perfectly still, frozen like a statue and even though he didn't technically need to breathe, he still holds his breath as Enzo flashes over to him. He simply glances over at his old friend, raising a questioning eyebrow his way. Sweat begins to form on the back of Damon's neck as he waited patiently for Enzo to speak, growing anxious as the seconds ticked by ever-so-slowly. He tried to think about things other than the man looming over him, practically breathing down his shoulder. It feels like an hour before Enzo decides to open his mouth when in reality, a minute had only gone by.

"Damon," Enzo speaks lowly in his ear, "Can I talk to you outside for a moment?"

Hesitantly, Damon nods, obliging to Enzo's request and following the man outside.

As soon as he steps one foot onto the porch, Damon is hit with a blast of cool night air. It was dark outside, he noticed, the stars hanging high in the sky and shining as the only source of light came from the moon that beamed down at them. He takes a moment to breathe in the fresh air, his breath looking like puffs of smoke, and enjoying the smell the pine trees that surrounding the cabin gave off. He closes his eyes for just a second and when the moment is over, he opens his lids and his eyes scan area until they stop and find their target. Damon finds Enzo leaning against his car, hands shoved into his pockets as he stared blankly ahead. With a sigh, Damon trudges over to him, not bothering with the vamp-speed.

At the sound of his feet scuffing against the ground, Enzo's head shoots up, his eyes landing directly on him. The blue-eyed vampire slowly makes his way over to him, head bowed slightly but kept his gaze on Enzo. As he finally standing in front of the car, Damon notices that the British man standing beside him wasn't saying anything, he asks—mostly from all the silence and it was driving him crazy—, "You wanted to talk?"

That's when Enzo seems to have snapped out of whatever daze he'd been in. Looking over his shoulder, he finds Damon standing right there, beside him. It surprises him slightly, although he had seen and heard him coming, a part of his brain apparently hadn't caught up with reality. To answer Damon's question, Enzo simply nods, stating, "Yes. We...We need to talk."

Damon raises a curious eyebrow, the worried expression on Enzo's face not going unnoticed by him. "Okay...About what exactly?"

The pointed look Damon receives speaks louder than words and like a faint whisper, like the wind that ran a shiver down his spine and caused his skin to prickle with goosebumps, he heard Stefan's voice in his head—like a horrible reminder, and Damon had a hinting suspicion that if he were ever able to see his conscious it would look exactly like his baby brother. He would probably tell him he's an idiot and then pat him on the back while shaking his head, wondering what he was doing with his eternal life. But Damon pushes those thoughts to the back of his head as Enzo turns his entire body to face him, such seriousness in not only his facial features but also in his stance that it caught Damon off guard when he says:

"About you trading your immortality for Bonnie's."

Damon's eyes widen for a fraction of second, slightly confused until he realizes what Enzo is referring to and his mind catches up. It wasn't that he had forgotten per-say, more of he had been trying not to think of it. And this little plan of his was—had—working until this very moment when Enzo decided to bring it up. The only reason the very thought of what could happen to him hadn't actually crossed his mind, mostly because he had been too busy trying to keep Bonnie alive and running cross-country to find a cure or a spell (anything really) that would help her. Damon called it dumb luck on the night when he and Valarie had traveled up to the old Parker home on Alaric's theory—thanks to something his dead wife, Jo, had mentioned before her passing—that the Parker's, because the deceased family had been part of a coven, probably had a whole collection of grimoires hidden somewhere. Surprisingly, Alaric had been right.

"...Oh. That."

"Yeah, that," Enzo says, lips pulling apart into a sneer. "Have you even given the plan much thought of what it could do to you or were you just going to...I don't know, perhaps, give up?"

At this, Damon's hands clench into fists at his sides at Enzo's question. He could feel his gut twist with anger—the emotion so familiar to him, it seemed that it was the only emotion he could feel. It might've seemed stupid to anyone else, but even though Enzo had said it as a question, it sounded more like a statement to Damon's ears. And he hated how it made him feel; how Enzo was right. He did have a knack of changing his mind at the last minute—and why wouldn't Enzo question him? Hell, he had backed down when he is own goddamn brother had been in a life-or-death situation. It wasn't that he didn't care about Stefan because he did, but he obviously cared about himself more.

...But something about Bonnie was different. He owed her too much to back out of the plan. He promised Emily that he would keep her lineage safe from harm, but so far he had only been the cause of their destruction from his own selfishness. And right there and then as Damon stood in front of Enzo, the man that had captured the heart of the one woman he—somehow—cared more about then the sleeping girl in the coffin, he understood.

Enzo wasn't making a statement.

He was giving Damon a choice—he could either live up to his promises for once or back down like a coward and let his best friend die.

The question was: Which option was he going to choose?

At that moment, he heard the one voice in his head—the voice that belonged to the one person Damon has ever allowed to give him shit for all the horrible things his done and spared their life. It was Bonnie. Her voice simmered his anger, soothed his soul, and he knew what he had to do.

 _"There's always a choice, Damon."_

And he always seemed to be making the wrong one.

But that would end here and now.

Shaking his head, Damon stares Enzo right in the eye—a silent challenge in the other man's eyes. "I'm prepared to do what needs to be done."

Enzo raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Even if it means sacrificing your life and giving up any chance of ever seeing Elena again?"

Without any hesitation, Damon answers immediately, ignoring the part where he mentioned Elena.

"For Bonnie, I'll do anything—even if it means death."

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 **A/N: Please leave a review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** **I just like to say thank you to those who reading this fic and that I'm glad you're enjoying it! I apologize for the short chapters. I'll try and make them longer.**

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"Damon, are you ready?"

He had only been in the cabin for less than a minute, but as soon as he and Enzo stepped back inside, Valarie—who hadn't moved from her spot on the floor in the last ten minutes—ordered from them to come over to them. By the serious look on her face, Damon knew that the plan was a go. After a long week of planning and getting prepared, it was finally time.

Now, as he laid with his back on the floor, lying within the pentagram surrounded by lit candles and stones, Valarie, on her hands and knees, crawled over to him and placed his daylight ring in his right hand and Ms. Cuddles—Enzo had found the stuffed bear in a box in the basement—in his left. Damon found himself clutching the bear tightly. It felt to him, as if he didn't, the fear that was making his stomach churn would take over; that it would eat him alive. And it probably already was eating him alive—but in perfect Damon fashion, did he try to deal with what he was feeling? No. Because that would be stupid. Instead, he pushed his feelings down, ignored them.

Suddenly, as if it's just occurring to him at this very moment, he realizes something—something he should've realized a long damn time ago.

He ignored his feelings and when it came time to deal with them, he backed out on his promises. It made him sick as he remembered all those times he let other people down. His own brother for Christ's sakes. Damon truly was a coward—and as much as he didn't want to admit it, it wouldn't be his pride or his ego that would kill him. It would be his own insecurities that he would never be enough for anyone, including himself. After living an undead life for the more than a century, there were only five things he regretted: Becoming his father—becoming a ruthless, merciless person who solved everything with violence and had the need to control everything with an iron fist; letting his brother down over and over again and only thinking of himself; never giving his mother a second chance; never being able to hold up to a certain standard; and lastly,

 **1.** Becoming his father—becoming a ruthless, merciless person who solved everything with violence and had the need to control everything with an iron fist; **2.** Letting his brother down over and over again and only thinking of himself; **3.** Never giving his mother a second chance; **4.** Never being able to hold up to a certain standard; **5.** Hurting those he loved.

"Damon, _are_ you ready?" He hears her voice, Valarie repeating her question, and it reminds him that he had yet to answer it.

He also noticed that at some point his eyes had fallen closed.

As his eyelids flutter open, the first thing he sees are a pair of emerald green orbs. A part of him is disappointed because they weren't the eyes he was hoping to see. Instead, it was Valarie looming over him (very creepily if he may add) and she had a reddish-brownish eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Shaking his head, he answers, "Yes. Sorry—" Damon pauses when he notices Valarie's eyebrows scrunch together in confusion at the word 'sorry', shocked he was apologizing "—I got distracted. Let's do this thing." And for someone who absolutely terrified, Damon only spoke with confidence. Shitting his pants would've been more of an appropriate response.

"You alright, mate?"

Damon's eyes snap over to Enzo, who stood behind Valarie—who now sat on the red throw pillow that supplied her with comfort as the grimoire laid face-up and her eyes were closed—and Damon nods his head. "Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

 _Lies._

All lies.

Damon, was in fact, quite the opposite of alright.

Enzo coughs, shoulders shaking slightly and it only took a second for Damon to realize he was laughing. "Well...to be frank, you look like you just crapped yourself."

"Enzo?" Damon speaks through gritted teeth, eyes narrowing at the British vampire.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck off."

Those two words are all it takes for Enzo to shut up, but Damon doesn't miss the smirk that pulls at his lips right before he shuts his eyes, trying to relax. Except, right as he feels his muscles untense and his clutch o Ms. Cuddles loosen—but only slightly—he hears Valarie says, "Oh, and Damon, try to relax. We only get one shot at this, so I don't you screwing it up for the rest of us."

 _What the hell does she think he's trying to do here?_

 _Meditate?_

Her words are enough to make his entire body freeze up and Damon refrains from taking his daylight ring and flinging it so hard at Valarie that it cuts straight through the heretic and leaves her with a hole in her heart.

"Such words of encouragement," Damon grumbled, cracking an eyelid open and directing his gaze on the redhead, finding her to be glaring back at him. "I mean, if this whole heretic thing doesn't work, you could always grow up to be a life-coach for depressing teenie-poppers or maybe a sad cat lady—I would've added 'old' by with that eternal glow of yours, it makes everything so decieveing—"

Valarie cuts him off, groaning, "Why do you have to such a great—"

And because she had cut him off, in a childish manner, Damon does the same to her. "—A great person? Thanks, Strawberry Shortcake. I always knew I could win you over."

She rolls his eyes at him. "I was actually going to say: Why do you have to be such a pain in the arse?"

Damon simply shrugs, knowing he had heard worse, but instead of dismissing the comment, he decides to answer truthfully—but it definitely wasn't because he might die as soon as Valarie starts the spell, and he definitely wasn't stalling.

No.

Nope.

Na-da.

Okay...maybe just a little bit, but in all honesty, Damon couldn't remember the last time he had been this terrified. The only thing that pulls him back into reality and out of his head where only negative thoughts floated around like a swarm of locusts was Bonnie and the fact if he didn't do this she'd die. And Damon really didn't want that to happen.

"My terrible upbringing, but that's dwell into that, shall we?" He suggests, shutting his eyes, fingers gripping both Ms. Cuddles and his daylight ring tightly in either hand. "We have a certain Bennett to save and little time to do so."

Damon lets out a breath of relief when Valarie doesn't press on the subject.

"Any last words?"

The question is spoken out loud by Enzo, and Damon could've sworn he heard the man choke on his spit.

Not bothering to open his eyes —partly because he didn't want to close them again, but mostly because he didn't want to see what Enzo's expression would be after he says what he needs to say—Damon tells him in a very serious tone, "...Not really—just t-that if this doesn't work out and I do die, I want you to know that I am very sorry for what I put you through and I couldn't have been a better friend. And that...I'm sorry for what I also did for Bonnie, and I know it didn't work out last time, but in case of my departure, I left her something in an envelope. You'll find it in the pocket of my jacket—"

"—You're not going anywhere, Damon!" Enzo shouts with such fierceness that it causes goosebumps to appear on Damon's arm and he shivers. "Stop being such a drama-queen—"

"Enzo!" Damon yells back, and this time, he opens his eyes. His gaze instantly locks with Enzo's, but unlike his Whiskey brown ones, Damon's glacier orbs held an emotion so much stronger than Enzo could ever muster. And it had the British vampire almost toppling over. "I know I was terrible to you, but I have never once asked anything of you. But right now, I need you to do this one thing for me. _Please_."

Fear—never once had he ever seen Damon this afraid before.

But there was something behind it all: _love_.

But for who?

It wasn't hard to guess, but Enzo had his suspicions for years now, but still he keeps his mouth shut on the matter. There was something different about this kind of love though, and Enzo knew exactly what it was. He'd seen Damon sacrifice other people's live to his (pathetic) 'epic love' lying in a coffin, but he never witnessed the act of Damon actually sacrificing his own life to save someone. Enzo knew he should've been jealous, but he couldn't find it in himself to be so—not when Damon was the lying there, ready to give up everything to save somebody that's not even his.

 _Or...is she?_

Enzo shakes his head at the thought, a scowl taking place on his lips. Coming out of his haze, he finds Damon still staring up at him, a pleading look in those blue eyes of his eyes and Enzo knew he wasn't going to win this fight.

"...Fine. What is it you want from me?" He asks, expecting Damon to smile but all he does is continue to frown.

"The enevelope—I need you to give it Bonnie. But only if I don't wake up."

Hesitantly, Enzo—slowly, but surely—nods. "I can do that—and Damon, there's something I need of you."

It's not question but a statement, Damon realizes. Even though he couldn't do much, he stills nods.

"What is it, Enzo?"

"Fight—I need—" Enzo shakes his head, pausing for a moment, knowing that doesn't sound right and instead says, "...Bonnie needs you to fight. You need to fight, Damon, or so help me God and I promise you it won't be the spell that kills you but me if you die. And if you die, I'll resurrect you just to bring you back, you hear me? Fight."

Damon doesn't know what to say, so instead he only nods. "I will, Enzo. I will fight my hardest."

And with that, his eyes flutter shut and the last thing he hears is Valarie chanting and the picture of a certain emerald-eyed beauty dancing around in his mind as a darkness falls over him.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! _Please leave a review_ if you enjoyed it! Sorry if it's short and for the many cliffhangers. Until next time!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** **I just wanted to let you all know that this fanfic has reached 3, 000 reads! So, thank you! I appreciate all the nice reviews some of you leave and the support this story fic has gotten so far!**

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As Valarie finishes the spell five minutes later, the rocks that sit on the floor begin to shake and the flames licking off the candles and in the fireplace are suddenly shooting upward, the fire dancing on the candles almost touching the ceiling.

Five feet to Enzo's right, Valarie shrieks at the top of her lungs, bouncing off the throw pillow she sits on and throwing herself sideways, so she's laying with her head only four inches away from his feet. The grimoire had fallen out of her hands and clattered to the floor, open, but upside down and only foot from the fireplace.

He watches silently, but with eyebrows scrunch together in concern, as the red-headed heretic lifts her arm and with a wide wave of her head the flames in both the fireplace and those on the candles settles, along with the rocks that calm down, but not before emitting a bright white light that fills the entire living area.

Both Enzo and Valarie shield their eyes by turning their heads to the side, eyes shut and left arm thrown over to the block the light. A minute passes before the glow starts to dim and they're able to open their eyes.

"...What the bloody hell was that?!" Enzo shouts at the heretic once his vision clears, his British accent coming out in full effect.

Still lying on the floor, Valarie twists her body so she's sitting up, hands in her lap as she stared up at the whiskey brown-eyed vampire. Instead of yelling back at him like she wanted to, she calmly states, "I have absolutely no clue."

But her answer only angers Enzo further.

"What do you mean you have no clue?" He questions angrily, throwing his arms out.

Jaw clenched, but still trying to hold back from strangling the British twat, she says, "It means exactly what I said. I. Don't. Know."

Enzo stares skeptically at her. "We could've been sucked into oblivion and your only answer is 'I don't know'?"

That was the last straw for Valarie. Using her vampire speed, one minute she sitting on the floor, the next she's standing and ready to pounce.

She could feel the familiar sensation of her gums stinging and when she ran her tongue along the top row of her teeth, she winced when she felt one of her canines trying to emerge from where it was hidden under the thin layer of skin. The urge to rip something—or more of, _someone_ —apart was growing stronger by the second, and Valarie knew if she didn't calm down she'd be ripping a chunk out of Enzo's neck. And, although it didn't seem like such a bad idea, Valarie didn't think the sleeping Bennett witch in the other room would be too happy about finding her lover torn apart, limbs scattered about the cabin.

Taking a deep breath and counting to ten—scratch that, make it forty—the need to tear a certain British vampire subsidies, or at least enough to where Valarie could think of anything besides blood and violence. Instead, she takes the high road.

Step forward, Valarie closes the huge three feet gap between Enzo and herself, leaving a good four inches of room. Due to the height difference, her forehead matched up with his nose, and because of that, she had to look up to him—and for a flicker of a moment, Valarie despises her shortness. But only for a moment because there were more important things to worry about, such as a dying lover and unconscious Damon Salvatore that stayed lying on the floor.

Pressing a finger to his chest, she speaks for the first time in minutes, ignoring Enzo's question, "...How about instead of using me as your own personal punching bag —" she pokes him, fingernail digging into his shirt,"—you go and check on that girlfriend that you claim to love oh-so-dearly? Shouldn't making sure she's breathing be more important to you than my competence—which, I can assure you, is perfectly intact."

Enzo opens his mouth to say something, but when Valarie pokes him again, he shuts it. Teeth grinding together, he grumbles something that sounds a lot like gibberish before swatting the heretic's hand away and walking away, having a sick girlfriend to attend to.

As he's making his way to his lover's bedside, Enzo doesn't miss the odd, quiet—but audible sound that only someone such as himself with vampire hearing could hear—thumping sound Damon emitted when he walked past. But instead of stopping to investigate the noise, he decides to continue on his merry way.

When Enzo reached Bonnie's room, he goes to open the door. But, much to his surprise, he already finds it to be opened. Raising a hand, he lightly presses on the wooden board, the door's hinges creaking as it opened. It came as a shock to Enzo when he didn't find Bonnie lying on the bed—a place that he had gotten used to seeing her be. Scanning the room with his eyes in worry, he finds that the door to the half-bath that connects to the bedroom is wide open.

Cautiously, he strolls over to the entryway of the door and peers inside the bathroom, what he sees leaves him a state of shock.

There, kneeling on the floor and hunched over the toilet bowl, was Bonnie.

"...Bonnie," Enzo breaths out her name slowly and quietly, stepping one foot into the cramped space. But when his foot lands on the floor, due to his weight, the floorboards creak under pressure, announcing his presence. Instantly, Bonnie's head snaps to the side, her gaze landing on him and Enzo sucks in a breath, eyes widening.

Instantly, Bonnie's head snaps to the side, her gaze landing on him and Enzo sucks in a breath, eyes widening.

"What did you do to me?" Bonnie demanded as a mixture of the black goo she had been hurling up earlier and blood stained covered the bottom half of her face, dribbling off her chin and leaving droplets on where it fell on the floor. Enzo takes a step back out of the bathroom when he notices that when the droplets of whatever Bonnie was puking up left the wood panels sizzling, trails of smoke floating in the air.

"N-Nothing," he stuttered, blinking rapidly.

But it was a lie. He had done something to her—or more so, he _and_ Damon had done something horrific to his girlfriend.

"Don't lie to me!" She yelled, standing up on shaky legs.

Enzo is taken aback for a moment—but not just at Bonnie yelling at him, but for a fraction of second, with the goo and blood dribbling down her, he could've sworn she looked exactly like a vampire that's just fed.

"I'm not!" He shouted back in defense of himself. "...Believe me, Bonnie, I'm not."

She only shakes her head, a humourless chuckle slipping past her lips. "Do you honestly think you can give me those sad, puppy dog eyes and I'd just, what, fall into your arms forgiving you?" Bonnie raised a skeptical eyebrow, one hand on her hip and a dangerous glint in her eyes. "I've spent my entire life around lairs, and although your heart doesn't beat _Lorenzo_ , I have known you long enough to tell when you're lying to me. Now, tell me, what. The. Hell. Did. You. Do. To. Me?"

Enzo swallows harshly, suddenly realizing he's got nowhere to run. An

And he's never been this scared of Bonnie Bennett more than he was right now.

She could give him an aneurysm, chop off his hand, and stab him with a wooden stake and he'd still wouldn't be terrified of her.

But with the black goo and blood dribbling down her chin, her shirt stained with it and her teeth covered in it, he was absolutely horrified.

As Enzo opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of Valarie shouting his name interrupts him from saying the words he didn't have.

 _Saved by the heretic,_ he thought as gives Bonnie one last apologetic glance before turning around and speeding off into the living room.

"What's the matter—What the in the bloody hell is happening to him?!"

Enzo stops in tracks, almost running smack into the recliner when his gaze lands on a very pale, still very unconscious Damon lying on the floor. The only difference from earlier before he went to go check on Bonnie was that Damon was now seizing, body shaking and some sort of black foam oozing out of the corner of his mouth—the same black foam that held a very odd resemblance to the black goo Bonnie had been puking up.

Kneeling over his was Valarie, a washcloth in hand as she went to go wipe the foam from Damon's lips when Enzo spots that when some of the foam landed on the floor, it did exactly what it had done when the black goo was dribbling off Bonnie's chin, it started to burn through the floorboards, creating a hole.

"Valarie! Don't!" He shouts, flashing over to the red-headed heretic and wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back right as black goo starts to ooze out of Damon's nose and ears, his body becoming still and the seizing stopping.

"What's happening to him?" Valarie whispers into Enzo's ear.

Looking down at her, Enzo shakes his head. "I don't know."

As Enzo is letting Valarie go, Bonnie comes rushing out of the bedroom, stumbling around. But she freezes when her eyes land on Damon and they widen in both fear and shock.

"Damon!" She cries in horror, and in a second, she is by his side, small hands cupping his face. Before Enzo could warn her, Bonnie, using her thumb, wipes away the black goo coming out of Damon's nose. Shockingly, it had burned her like Enzo had been expecting the goo to do. "No...no, no, no!" Enzo didn't have to see Bonnie's face to tell that she was crying, the quiet whimpers coming from were enough.

Throwing her head over her shoulder, she glances behind her, eyes locking with Enzo's. "Why won't he wake up?"

But Enzo didn't have an answer. She could see that clear as day on his face—he had absolutely no clue what was happening to Damon. And that pissed Bonnie off.

And that pissed Bonnie off.

"Why did you do this?" She asked as she directed her gaze back down at Damon, running her dainty fingers through his hair, vision becoming clouded and glassy with tears. Using her right hand, she wipes away the tears that fall and slipped down her cheeks. She wouldn't cry—at least, not right now.

When she spots that the black goo that was running down Damon's nose was also coming out of his ears and slipping down his neck, she takes the washcloth that Valarie had dropped only a minute prior and wipes the goo off his neck. But something odd happens when she's cleaning up the goo.

It's only small, faint. But it's there.

Her eyes widen as she presses her index finger and middle finger to Damon's neck.

Closing her eyes, Bonnie counts.

 _1, 2, 3, 4_ —she gets all the way to thirty before she feels it again.

The bouncing sensation.

Her eyes open and her lips part with a small gasp.

Damon...had a pulse?

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! _Please leave a review_ if you enjoyed this chapter! If you're looking for more Bamon fics, you should definitely check out my other BD fanfics.**


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